Ophiophagy
by AlmostWolfgang
Summary: There was undercurrent to those words, to that tone and to the expression on his face that she did not dare let her mind pursue. He was a snake and she knew he would swallow her whole if given half the chance. Tom Riddle Era Tom/OC
1. Prologue

So while all my friends were killing themselves with conquering NaNoWriMo, I decided to actually devote myself to writing a detailed multi-chapter fic, and so Ophiophagy was born. Ophio is not all written out, but I've got the plot all laid out and multiple scenes written and visually story boarded. Because it's not all written out, updates will be relatively slow, but I'm hoping the story gains interest, so if you like it, let me know! I'll post links to the story boards, character designs, and playlists that I've made on my page, so if you're interested, make sure to check in. Now to get on with the work.

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It was in her fourth year at Hogwarts that Mazarine Hargrave's oldest brother forbid his siblings from talking to the Riddle boy. Cowal had never given a definite reason for his decision—only the occasional angry mumbling of "because," but she had always assumed he felt threatened by the younger boy. From his first days at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle had excelled in an unbelievable fashion. He quickly proved himself a favorite of teachers and students alike as well as the complete envy of others. He soared to the top of his classes, acing any test thrown his way without a second glance. From early on, there was talk of him being made a prefect, even of head boy—something Cowal had dreamed of. Cowal, with his severe nature and angry looks, had never achieved what Tom had no matter how long and hard he'd tried. Mazarine could remember the looks her eldest brother would shoot the boy when she and her brothers passed him in Hogwarts' crowded staircases. They were withering and full of spite and in most cases, Tom did not bother to even spare them a glance.

Mazarine, the spirited, wavy haired, middle child of the Hargrave's had never really spared him a thought before her brother's declaration. She and Tom were in the same year and house, but despite that, she saw him less than she saw her older, Gryffindor brother, Declan. Tom was a bookworm and teacher's pet, far too dull for her tastes. While he spent his time in the darkest recesses of the libraries, Mazarine spent her time on the quidditch pitch. Tom took to enforcing the rules and she befriended those who took joy in breaking them.

It was only out of spite for her brother—and perhaps a little curiosity—that Mazarine chose to take an interest in her classmate. And so, with that decision in the back of her mind, she began to watch him; in their shared classes, the Slytherin commons, and from across the long house tables. It turned into an odd hobby for her, something that kept her overactive mind busy during boring classes and awake when she felt like dropping her head to the desk under her hands. He proved less interesting than she had hoped—there didn't seem to be much hidden under the surface even after all her watching. She noted that he really wasn't close with his friends, but that wasn't unusual in their house, and that, when he would bring books back to the common room, they were often unfamiliar to her. She'd seen him again and again with books with titles referring to the Founders and the Dark Arts, books she was unaware that the libraries even held—not that she had spent enough time there to know their catalogs.

By the time their fifth year had rolled around, Tom had been made Prefect and Mazarine, captain of the Slytherin quidditch team. Tom was spending an increasing amount of time in the libraries and what time Mazarine had outside of quidditch was spent with family. The oldest three siblings of the Hargrave family—Cowal, Declan, and herself—were quickly growing apart, and fights were becoming common place. Vaughnn, the fourth child in the family, had entered Hogwarts and been sorted into the Slytherin house. He however, was a sickly and quiet child who proved the favorite target for bullies from all houses. Cowal, in his seventh and final year at the school, regularly took his short temper out on Vaughnn or ended up in cursing matches with Declan over his particularly defined sense of morality. Mazarine spent her time ushering Vaughnn about and playing protector for the boy, sending threats and snarls at anyone she caught bothering him, all while trying to keep her older brothers from drawing too much attention to the family.

The more the family argued, the less Mazarine found herself choosing to listen. While she made sure to take care of her duties, she rarely found herself really investing herself into breaking up her brother's fights or even involving herself in the family matters unless it was absolutely necessary. With distance growing between the siblings, Mazarine looked elsewhere for entertainment.

Though she still thought of him as a bookworm, Tom Riddle was becoming more and more interesting. In his position as Prefect, the boy seemed livelier than ever before. His group of friends followed him about regularly and he spoke more freely in class. There was a light that caught in his eyes when he smiled and a certain lilt to his voice that had not been there before. However, despite his more jovial behavior, Mazarine often found herself unsettled by him, for reasons she couldn't place. Whenever she caught herself staring at him—staring at the uncomfortably tense set of his jaw or the way his brow would crease ever so slightly around certain people—and he would catch her, her skin would crawl. Beneath that though, there was some thrill to it. Mazarine had always liked games, had always played to win no matter what the cost, and Tom Riddle was proving to be quite the challenge.


	2. Chapter 1

Despite the bare wooden slots of the stands, the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch was alive with the cheers and taunts of gathered students. Though they numbered few, and almost all wore Slytherin green, they made an unordinary amount of noise. Some roared in joy and others in outrage as the new team positions were announced. The source of the most controversy stood in the center of the field, surrounded by the other students dressed in practice robes and padding. Average in height with long, wavy black hair and a slightly rounded face, Mazarine Hargrave was a picture of ecstasy. She held her head high, a proud grin spreading her lips as she laughed and cheered. Keaton Mavies, a seventh year, and the team's reigning seeker slapped a hand on her back, "Congrats, Maz! Team Captain—and the first female captain for our team!" Wrapping his arm about her shoulders, the red haired boy leaned down to beam at her, "So," he said, "how's it feel to make history?"

Puffing out her chest and trying for a haughty look, Mazarine turned away from him, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She pursed her lips as she spoke, nodding her head back and forth just slightly as if mocking someone, "Quite nice, if you must ask, Mavies. I simply can't wait to do it again." She couldn't hold the impression though and burst into laughter, tossing her arms around his shoulders, "I can't believe it, Keaton! I did it! I got Captain!" Mazarine squealed in delight and bounced about, full of pent up energy.

Keaton merely laughed and wrapped his other arm around her waist to give her a short hug, the freckled boy grinning down at her. "Well you did," he said, "and you'd better believe it." Almost oblivious to the unpleasant names and phrases thrown at her by the students that trudged off the field or stood in the stands, Mazarine dropped her arms from Keaton's neck to put one around his waist and pull over another boy. Swinging her other arm out she caught one of the team's newest additions, a sheepish, round faced third year named Clive Abbott. The boy squeaked and nearly tumbled over as Mazarine and Keaton added him to the huddle. Barely sparing the third year a moment to compose himself, Mazarine turned her attention to Keaton, "I say you take us out for a round, Mavies! Our veteran member treating the new recruit and your new captain to a few. Sounds like a good idea to me!"

Before the wide eyed and stuttering Clive could say otherwise, Keaton threw his head back and laughed, giving Mazarine and the boy a shake, "Why not!" he yelled, grabbing the attention of all the other quidditch players, "Drinks at The Three Broomsticks at five, all on me!" As the team rejoiced and went about shouting their thanks, Mazarine patted both boys on the back before slipping out of Keaton's grip and releasing Clive.

"I'll have to meet you there, Mavies," she said, knocking him lightly in the chest, "I've got to let someone else in on the good news!" She began to bound away, scooping up her broom as she headed toward the castle.

Keaton's slightly lilted voice stopped her and she turned to see him grinning at her, raising his broom in the air and shaking it, "Better be there, Hargrave!" he yelled after her, pride on his thin, freckled face, "I want to be the first to buy you a drink— I have a feeling this won't be the first time you'll make history!"

Allowing a slight blush to steal across her face, Mazarine laughed at him, "Keep the flattery to yourself, Mavies!" With a smile, she winked at him before turning to run up the hill, yelling over her shoulder, "You know I'll be there!"

When she had finally reached her destination, Mazarine was a bit ashamed to admit she was more than a little winded, her breath coming in pants as she squatted down and braced her palms on her knees, waiting. "Guess I'll have to make runs part of quidditch training this year," she mumbled, chuckling to herself.

The halls of Hogwarts were mainly empty and almost entirely devoid of noise. Most students were still in class and those who weren't were either back at the quidditch pitch or holed up in their dorms. When a meal wasn't being served and class wasn't on, few students spent their time wandering about the castle. No matter how long one stayed, no matter just how safe or homey the building came to seem, everyone knew, deep down, that it was not smart to wander its halls alone. With its moving stairwells and ever watchful portraits, the castle was so very alive that one could easily forget that when it seemed to breathe, it was only the pulsing of the magic that protected it.

So Mazarine sat herself just out of the way of the crowds of students that would soon come bursting from classrooms to fill the halls and waited, idly twirling a strand of already curled hair about her finger. Quietly she hummed to herself, when suddenly, the halls erupted with noise and jostling students. When a small girl with olive skin and dark bob of hair turned the corner, Mazarine slid her foot out and caught her toe, sending the girl tumbling down, books and papers flying everywhere.

After slamming to the ground, the tiny girl shove herself up, shouting in a surprisingly loud voice, "Who in Merlin's name—" she cut herself off, growling as she looked around, "I swear to—Mazarine!" The girl's already pitched voice went up higher as she caught sight of the black haired slytherin and, without warning, she loosed the one book she'd managed to hold on to, aiming it straight for her head. Laughing widely, Mazarine ducked out of the way and stood, grabbing some of the girl's books then took off down the hall, dancing in-between other students to throw out taunts and keep an eye on her pursuer's progress. Rushing to sweep up the rest of her things, the darker skinned girl dashed after her, nearly running into numerous other students that stood watching, "Merlin's beard, when I catch you, Mazarine!

"If you even can," Mazarine yelled back, laughing all the way as she took a sharp turn through the throngs of students to burst out into the courtyard and throw her broom out in front of her with a shouted command of, "Up!" She jumped onto the broom and pulled herself up and out of reach of the girl who chased her, and bent down, resting her elbow on the wood and her chin in hand, smiling down at the students that watched, "I'd like to see you try now, Blythe."

Fire in her eyes and curses on her lips, Blythe Gallopin stood in the courtyard glaring up at Mazarine, still dressed in her practice robes. "Oh, you will," said Blythe, and before Mazarine could understand the threat, she was dodging book after book that the other girl sent flying. Regardless, she stayed laughing, twisting and turning about in the air, at one point turning her broom upside down and dropping the books she held at Blythe's feet.

With a stupid grin on her face, she hung at eye level with the girl, "I know you're mad, but I've got some rather fun news."

"Mad?" Blythe questioned, her eyebrows shooting up, "Mad! I'll show you mad, Mazarine!" With a scowl, Blythe's arm shot out and her fist knocked into the side of Mazarine's head. Expecting the hit, however, Mazarine spun her broom and ended up sitting upright on it again, grinning and rubbing her temple.

Raising a hand in surrender, she offered, "Alright, alright, shouldn't have tripped you, I know. But you really will be quite happy if you listen to what I have to say!" With Blythe showing no signs of forgiving her, Mazarine sighed playfully and pulled her wand from her robes, casting a spell to round up the girl's books and papers, piling them at her feet. "Honestly," she said, "it's good news, I promise." Smiling widely, she kicked her feet in the air, cooing, "Come on, ask what it is. You know you're interested."

With a glare, Blythe bent down to pick up her belongings, "Fine," she huffed, "what's this news?"

The smile on Mazarine's face spread and she was beaming, pulling her broom up into a loop before landing in front of her friend, "Guess who's the new Slytherin team captain?"

All of the anger that had been etched into Blythe's small, pointed face was erased as her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. "No," she protested, a tiny grin started to steal across her face, "you aren't. No possible way."

Forgoing words for a just a grinning nod, Mazarine answered and caught Blythe when she ran to hug her. They twirled about for a minute, giggling in joy before Mazarine set her friend back on her feet and Blythe shook her head, disbelieving. "I cannot believe you, Mazarine Hargrave," she said, rolling her eyes with a short laugh, "So, I assume we're celebrating?"

Picking up some of Blythe's things, Mazarine nodded and began to lead the way back to their dorms in the dungeon. "The Three Broomsticks at five," she said over her shoulder, humming as she walked, "I'm sure Keaton won't mind if you join us, you're basically part of the team. You're—"

Anticipating her words, Blythe cut in, "not your cheerleader, simply an avid fan." She stared her friend down, hazel eyes meeting deep blue and refusing to blink.

Giving up, Mazarine turned her head with a laugh and nodded, "Avid fan, okay, we'll go with that."


	3. Chapter 2

So sorry for the wait, guys, I intended to have this one written and posted before Christmas. I'm really sorry to say that at least until mid January, my updates will be pretty slow. I'm home from college for winter break and it turns out that the situation here has changed quite a bit since I left. My dad has had some kind of nervous breakdown and to make a long story short, has been putting the family under a massive amount of stress. I don't intend to let this fic get away from me though, so even if the updates are slow, updates there will be.

Before we get on with the story, I wanted to thank everyone who reviewed! I came back to the dorm from my last final to see your reviews and I must say, that was a pleasure! I hope that this chapter is just as enjoyable.

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Arm in arm with Blythe and Keaton, Mazarine made her way back into the castle that night. The entirety of Slytherin's quidditch team had turned out, even timid Clive Abbott. They'd spent hours in the Three Broomsticks, laughing and rejoicing over the good year to come. The team concocted half-baked maneuvers and plans for games that they were sure to forget by the morning, some consisting of hexed pigeons and others, transfigured brooms. Some, like Clive, stuck with drinking pumpkin juice, others downed butterbeer after butterbeer, which after the first two rounds, Keaton had stopped covering. As the team's only seventh years, Keaton and Tansy Thorton enjoyed the occasional firewhiskey, and as per usual, Mazarine regularly stole gulps of the seeker's drink when he wasn't looking.

Slightly sloshed and laughing up a storm, the three friends made their way to the Slytherin dungeons, choosing to skip out on what was left of dinner in the great hall. After mumbling "parselmouth" at the heavy stone door, Keaton led the two younger slytherins in, only to stop, frowning at the sight that greeted them. Before either girl had stepped more than one foot past the door, he turned to Mazarine, stepping in front of her. Grinning, he dropped a hand on her shoulder, "Maz," he said, pushing slightly to walk her back out the door, "I forgot! There's something I need to show you, come on, let's go."

More than a little confused by Keaton's sudden actions, Mazarine stared at him, one brow raised. "What?" she asked, not budging as he pushed at her, "Where are we going?" Reaching up, she plucked his hand from her shoulder, looking over to Blythe for answers, "Do you have any idea what he's going on about?"

For her part, Blythe looked oddly in on Keaton's actions despite the answer she gave, "Not at all, Maz, but I'm sure it's worth seeing. Has Keaton ever disappointed?"

When over her friends voices, Mazarine heard arguing, she pushed the seeker out of her way, ignoring his protests and attempts to block her view. Once she'd moved around the red haired boy, she could see exactly why her friends had tried to push her out of the room. In the center of the mostly deserted commons stood her eldest brother, Cowal, and her family's most recent addition to the school. Vaughnn, who was abnormally pale and thin even for a Hargrave, sported a bright red right cheek and cradled it in his hand, his head hanging and shouldered hunched as he tried to hide in plain sight. Meanwhile Cowal, twice his brother's size in bulk and easily a foot taller, berated him, yelling and waving his fists.

Before Keaton or Blythe could stop her, Mazarine was yelling, "Vaughnn, upstairs, now!" The lanky boy's head snapped up and seeing his sister stomping over, he bolted, headed for his dorm.

Deprived of his usual outlet, Cowal turned his anger to its usual source. "Mazarine," he growled, "stay out of it." His neatly combed hair was slipping from its tie and long, thin strands fell around his wide face.

"Don't start it and I won't have to," Mazarine shot back, walking down into the room to stand face to face with her brother. "You aren't Mother or Uncle, so you have no right to be disciplining Vaughnn," she said, her richly painted lips turning into a distasteful scowl as she shot him a look, "Not that he's ever done a single thing to deserve it, unlike yourself."

His face twisting into a snarling grimace, Cowal raised his hand to strike only to meet resistance in the form a hand wrapped tightly around his wrist. Keaton held his fellow seventh year's arm still, face mostly blank of the anger that burned in his eyes. "Do not hit her, Cowal, you've already struck a first year, don't let the Prefects find out you've hit Mazarine as well," he said, trying win the Hargrave over with reason.

Looking the red haired boy over, Cowal ripped his hand from Keaton's grip, scoffing, "Veiled threats don't fit you, Mavies. This is a family matter and I suggest you keep your nose out of it."

Holding his tongue, Keaton simply stared down at the oldest Hargrave, only pulling away when Mazarine laid a hand on his upper arm. "He's right, Keaton," she said, giving him a small, reassuring smile, "I can handle myself. Don't worry. Go check on Vaughnn for me, will you?"

Frowning slightly, he nodded, saying with a sigh, "Alright, Mazarine." Sending Cowal one last glare, Keaton headed for the first year dorms, stopping to call out to Blythe, "Come on, Maz says she's got it, let's leave it to her then."

Once her friends had left the room, Mazarine reached out to shove her older brother. "Keep your hands off Vaughnn and for Merlin's sake, stop picking fights with Declan. I'm not your caretaker and I'm not always going to be around to wave people away, Cowal."

With a snarl, Cowal backhanded her, "My caretaker, Mazarine? You couldn't even take care of a mandrake if you tired. Know your place, woman. I will lead this family how I want when Uncle isn't around."

"Know your own place, Cowal," Mazarine frowned, rubbing her cheek, "Mother would have your head for suggesting that a woman can't lead and you know it. She'd also have it for how much attention you're drawing to the family." Whipping out her wand, she poked him in the chest, "I'll make sure Vaughnn and I don't have any bruises to show for your brutishness, but make a scene again and I'll let the family hear about your behavior. Mother and Uncle can deal with it, I'm done, Cowal."

The two siblings stared each other down for a moment, both refusing to be the first to move and neither willing to say another word. The tight knit trio of Hargraves, of the three eldest siblings, each separated by a year, was falling apart. Each new day brought new fights and for Cowal to openly strike his sister, in view of the public, made it clear that there was something brewing below the surface.

If not for the scraping sound of the dungeon door, the two would have gone on staring for hours. Instead, they tore apart when a low, slightly amused voice questioned them, "Am I interrupting something? I certainly hope not." Tom Riddle, one of the fifth year prefects stood just inside the heavy stone door, taking in the scene the two siblings presented.

Pulling her hair over her right shoulder to help hide the still smarting mark on her face, Mazarine turned to answer, tucking away the wand she'd just had pointed at her brother's heart, "Of course not," she started, smiling up at the dark haired prefect. "just your average sibling tiff, you know. Isn't that right, Cowal?"

Her older brother snorted, "Yes, a tiff, of course." With a roll of his eyes, Cowal gave his sister a horribly faked smile and began to stride away, "I suppose I will see you later, Mazarine. Check up on Vaughnn if you could." Not bothering to hide his dislike, Cowal made sure to ram his shoulder against Tom's on his way out, sparing him a saccharine, "Good night, Mr. Riddle."

Tom merely glanced over his shoulder at the passing seventh year, a slight arch curving his brow. While the prefect gave her brother his momentary attention, Mazarine turned to check up on Vaughnn, as Cowal had so kindly reminded her to do, only to be stopped by that same, slightly amused voice, "I hope that the your sibling tiffs are not always so heated, Ms. Hargrave. I don't know many siblings who would strike each other or go so far as to pull their wands over something small."

The embarrassment Mazarine felt at the prefect's comment sent her face burning bright and unwilling to give him any satisfaction, she stomped away, her head ducked down as if she could hide from his view.


	4. Chapter 3

You guys are lovely for reading and reviewing, if it weren't for you, I definitely would not have nearly as much motivation to keep updating! Here's a rare chapter from Tom's pov, don't get too used to it, we'll only be hearing from his side of everything on occasion. And if you're interested, I've posted a short drabble for our favorite Dark Lord's birthday. I hope you all enjoy!

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With his promotion to prefect, Tom Riddle's fifth year was proving to be more pleasant than even his first year at the school. As usual, his classes were horribly simple and never proved the challenge he wished, but they were still interesting, as easy as they were. Magic, even the most artless of spells and potions would never cease to intrigue him. He wished to bury himself so far into this world of witchery that any lingering amount of muggle blood was far from his mind, so far that no one would ever know that he had ever seen the muggle world and their ugly, primitive ways first hand.

Being a prefect earned him a position of power and respect among the students of Hogwarts and he reveled in it. Compared to some of the other prefects, Tom was surprisingly fair and lenient. He, unlike some, did not deduct points from other houses simply because of long held rivalries and he certainly did not grant his own house points. He would not abuse this position in such lowly ways. No, instead, he held this power over the heads of those he disliked, always dangling the threat of lost points when they would step outside the lines. Always with a very true allegation of their wrongdoings, how they had went against this code or broken a horribly vague rule that, while the other students had never heard of it, certainly sounded like a rule that Hogwarts must have. And if he intended to befriend someone, gain their trust? What better to offer than the protection that befriending a prefect could provide? After all, Tom himself knew that the bullied and ignored often knew things, very useful and interesting things indeed.

The outcasts were not his only_ friends— _not that he would truthfully refer to anyone with such a title—he also had another group. All from his year and house, these were students that he had befriended early on. None of them were all that bright, merely rather lacking in morals and more than interested in themselves and what the young Mr. Riddle could give him. Walburga and Orion, two second cousins from the Black family, betrothed to each other upon birth according to long standing traditions of blood purity. Walburga, a wiry girl with a severe face shared her harsh and off-putting personality with Orion, who in contrast, was bulky and intimidating thanks to his sheer size and hard set jaw. The two could hardly stand each other and the rest of the wizarding world was even worse off. Then, there was the young Malfoy, Abraxas, who with his long blond hair and father's money, went about acting as if he owned the school and everyone in it. He and the Black's associated because of family ties—no family in the Sacred Twenty-Eight outside of the Weasely's made it their goal to isolate themselves for even personal opinion did not trump the preservation of pure blood. And, after a while of tagging along with the dark haired pair, Abraxas had learned to hold his tongue and watch his audience.

Tom Riddle, with his sharp mind had made an easy time of befriending the trio. Hinting at preference for pure blood and actively avoiding them got them interested, continuing it kept them there. Being a prefect had merely cemented their choices, not that they could get out at this point.

No, they were more than just_ friends,_ they were followers. The Knights of Walpurgis; that is what they had come to call themselves behind closed doors, all hexed to protect from prying ears. Witches and Wizards that shared interest in dark magic and all the power it could bring, power that, with Tom's guiding hand could be shaped and used as he wished.

To everyone, this group, the Knights, were merely Tom's friends. Professors were happy to see that intelligent, orphaned boy finally with a group of friends all his own and so none thought to question when they did as Tom asked. Students, too charmed or intimidated by him, rarely even noticed. All just as Tom preferred.

The Hargrave family however, did not come so easily and never had. The first Hargrave he had encountered was not much different from the masses, or had seemed as much for four years. The sorting ceremony had provided him with a concise list of students in his year and even being so fresh to the wizarding world, he had known to take note of them—especially those sorted into his house. So when his name was called and the hat placed on his head said with no particularly pleasant tone, "Slytherin," he ran the list through his mind. Among many, Mazarine Hargrave had also been placed in his house. When the hat had been set on her unruly curls, the girl's bright smile had faded quickly, as unlike with many before her, the hat seemed uncertain and as a frown started to make its way across her face, she began to fail at keeping her voice down.

However, before she was able to hold an argument with that ratty brown hat, it had shut her up with a snappy, "Fine," before shouting out, "Slytherin!" While that seemed to please her, as her shoulders had dropped ever so slightly, she had still taken the time to toss it at the Professor who had set it on her head before stomping away.

He'd learned later, through overheard conversations, that she had two older brothers, one in their house, and another in Gryffindor. The Gryffindor child had been a disappointment to the family, as apparently, the family was a historically Slytherin group, and the boy was distinctly Gryffindor—loud, rowdy, and hot headed, but still horribly worried about what was "right" and "just". With her boisterous nature and hard headed ways, Mazarine was very similar to the Gryffindor boy, but still, it seemed that she had been different enough for the hat to be convinced she would fit with the snakes.

For most of their years however, Tom disagreed. She was not particularly intelligent—in most of her courses she put in only the bare amount of work necessary to keep her prized spot on the Quidditch team. The girl only excelled in two classes, transfiguration and defense against the dark arts, and anything that was not as interesting, she avoided like the plague. She had a childish sense of humor that took the form of hexes and jinxes thrown out in bustling halls and her excitement often came from breaking rules or going against social norms. After all, she had shocked the school when she stole a spot on an all-male quidditch team in her third year and she continued to hold her own in that arena. Tom thought her a simpleton and he was sure she thought him dull and overbearing.

Her Gryffindor brother, Declan, was only a year ahead of them, but even if it had not been for the house separation, Tom would have never even bothered with him. He was very open about his feelings on dark magic and on Muggle and Mudbloods. While still a member of a pure blood family and with thoughts still heavily steeped in their beliefs, Declan did not stand for violence toward their kind and was starchily against the use of dark magic in any manner. If anything, Tom considered him an annoyance and a possible obstacle to overcome if he were to get involved.

The eldest of the girl's siblings, Cowal, was two years ahead of them and reminded him of the Black cousins, but in all the most unpleasant ways. He was a stupidly cruel boy who looked down on just about everyone and rarely even bothered with respect where it was due. While it was clear the boy had his talents, had potential as a wizard, he was too caught up in himself to be swayed and so Tom did not bother.

However, Tom was finding himself having to reconsider some of his assumptions about the family. There was obvious unrest between the siblings, the youngest, Vaughnn seemed weak and sickly, Mazarine was acting out—becoming progressively less interested in playing her role in the family, Declan was branching away to pursue his own moral stance, and Cowal, so intent on being in control was lashing out at all of them. Mazarine, who for most of the time they had been at Hogwarts together avoided Tom, had developed a sudden interest in him. He would catch her staring at him in classes or she would happen into the library minutes after he when in previous years, he'd not seen her there once. Tom was not unused to interest from the girls at Hogwarts, not by a longshot, and if the girl had been merely infatuated with him, he would have never bothered to reconsider her, but that was not what this was.

The way she'd be looking at him was if she was attempting to pick him apart. As if he was hiding some secret she could only guess at. This did not frighten him though, for unless he wished it, she would never even be able to guess at the secrets he hid. She was trying though, and in her own way, trying to catch his interest as well. While she did not normally bother with her grades, it seemed that her highest marks were suddenly rising and she was not running far below him when it came to those courses. She was more active in their shared classes and if he caught her eye when she was staring her way, the girl didn't turn away immediately, nor did she blush as most of them would.

When he decided to return some of that interest, he found himself quite entertained. What on the surface appeared to be simple unrest was more like violent discord. Cowal's anger was manifesting not just in words, but in physical action, and Declan, normally well-mannered with everyone seemed to be on a hair trigger himself. And Mazarine, forced to play mother to her two older brothers, was stepping between them less and less frequently.

Little comments thrown here and there had Tom questioning his knowledge of this family and, this dissent, Tom decided, could be used to his advantage.


	5. Chapter 4

Man, am I on a kick this week or what? Sadly enough, that'll slow down real soon, as I'll be getting ready to head back to college for next semester come Monday, so I'll try to break out as many chapters as I can to make up. Tom and Mazarine actually have words in this chapter, so finally, a little interaction! I hope you enjoy.

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Walking out of her potions class, Mazarine pulled her hair down from the knot she pulled it into to keep it back from her face. Her day had started off bad; a sore face with no bruise to show for it, and the day had only continued to get worse. There had been Quidditch practice before breakfast and, being captain, she couldn't just skip. After that, she'd had her most dreaded classes of the week—History of Magic and Potions. History was simply boring and potions, well that was another story. After not only completely failing to make the day's potion but busting her own cauldron, she was the last student to leave, mumbling under her breath about she would treasure the day she was free of Slughorn and his useless potions.

The voice of Blythe Gallopin met her as she reached the halls, "You should really consider my offer to tutor you, Maz," she said, taking in her friend's disheveled looks.

Shaking her head to try and settle her hair, Mazarine trudged on ahead, "Not today, Blythe."

Sighing, the shorter girl jogged a bit to catch up, switching to a side step as she tried to catch Mazarine's eye, "Bad day?" she asked.

"Yes, but please drop it," she answered, her eyes narrowing as she tried to ignore the pity written on her friend's face, "And it isn't because of Cowal, I can handle him. I've done it all my life." Huffing, she began to run her fingers through the black strands of hair, "Besides, so long as I'm passing potions and I keep my spot as captain, I don't want to spend one more minute of my life thinking about that horrid class." Mazarine turned a smile to Blythe, slowing her step so she, with her shorter legs, could keep up, "You know that."

With an answering grin, Blythe jeered, "I do, but honestly, Slytherin's are made for greatness and your work in potions? Not so great." Mazarine had been waiting for criticism, but at that, she burst into laughter, a much fuller grin stretching her face as what little color she normally had began to surface. "It's your loss, Maz, I'd be a great tutor, you don't know what you're missing!" The shorter girl shouted as she turned to slip through the students the shared the hall with, easily disappearing among the crowd.

Mazarine merely laughed, and with a shake of her head, continued on, occasionally shoving her way through the throngs of people until she made it to where the bright oranges of fall greeted her from between the large stone pillars of the hall. Between the third and the fourth pillar, she found Blythe, leaning against the back of one. "Attempting to cheer me up with the usual?" Mazarine asked.

Not looking over to Mazarine, Blythe answered, "What makes you think it's about cheering you up? I just want a little entertainment, that's all." From their spot between the pillars, they could see across the courtyard to a hall that ran perpendicular to theirs, which was also lined with pillars. Blythe was scanning the crowd, not looking for any particular student, just one who caught her eye. A couple minutes passed as Mazarine made herself comfortable against the other pillar, looking over her shoulder to see which student Blythe would pick. Finally, her green eyes stopped scanning and her head began to turn as she followed her target. As per usual, Mazarine stepped between Blythe and the students passing as Blythe reached into her robes to grip her wand. Any passerby would see Mazarine whispering to the girl half hidden from their view and none would have heard Blythe as she breathed, "Watch this!"

Through the pillars, in the opposite hall, a scream erupted and then chaos followed. Some students were shoving to get away as they scattered, others stood confused, and even less attempted to find the source. Slowly, one girl was left in the center of it all, flailing her arms about as she tried to bat away an uncomfortably large spider that clung to her sleeve.

Between the pillars, the two slytherin girls stood laughing, Mazarine still shading Blythe with her back to the crowd. "Another," Blythe gasped between breaths, "You pick someone this time, Maz, your turn."

Mazarine laughed and straightened herself to search the crowds, "Alright," she said, "just remember, when I show you up, you asked."

As she searched the still scattering students, Mazarine stepped up against the furthest pillar, her back to the crowds and her right hand wrapped around the delicate beech wand that was hidden beneath her robes. However, before she could pick her own target, a voice stopped her, "Ms. Gallopin," it called, far too youthful and soft to be any professor, "Ms. Hargrave." As Mazarine turned, slipping her hand from her robes, she came face to face with Tom Riddle, who looked less than amused. "I suggest you two quiet down and get moving," he said, "less someone accuse you of having a hand in this scene."

Well aware, that of all the Prefects, Tom was not one for warnings and eager to protect her title of captain, Mazarine summoned up a weak smile, "Of course, Tom," she said, turning to Blythe, who stood glaring at the prefect, "we were just on our way back to the common room, right?"

Tucking her wand away, Blythe agreed, not bothering to spare the dark haired boy even a fake smile, "Yes, we were. I guess we'll see you there, won't we, _Mr. Riddle_?"

Tom had placed himself just between both girls and the hall, and as Blythe struggled to fit past him without touching him, he looked down his nose at her wearing his most charming of smiles. "Yes, you shall." Tom said, "If, by chance, you do not, I would like to wish a good night, Ms. Gallopin." His lips twitched upwards ever so slightly as, with a huff, Blythe shoved passed him, so bothered by him that she did not even look back for the friend she'd left.

Still embarrassed by having a prefect, the one her brother hated nonetheless, catch a fight between them, Mazarine attempted to duck out after Blythe. Tom however, turned his attention to the lone girl, moving just enough to block her path. The charming smile he'd worn, clearly just to get under Blythe's skin, had fallen and Mazarine could not stop herself from shrinking away when she met the harsh stare he'd fixed her with. It was blank, almost as if his eyes had clouded over and it unnerved her more than anything in recent memory. The cold blue color of his eyes made the expression on his face even more frightening and she couldn't help but wonder what she had done to make him so upset with her.

After a tense few moments, he spoke, some of that charming smile working its way back onto his face, "I'm surprised your older brother doesn't have more to say about a friend like _that_. Not the best of influences, Ms. Gallopin."

His tone expressed what his face did not, it carried a sneer and a mingling bit of false concern that felt like a slap to the face. Standing up to her full height, Mazarine shot back, "Cowal does not make my decisions for me, thank you very much, Tom." After Cowal's decision to strike her, Mazarine had made one of her own; that Cowal would never tell her what to do again. So, stepping forward to the point that she was almost close enough to bump chests with the boy, she finished, "And I believe that particular friend might be wondering where I am about now, so, if you don't mind."

Tom stared at her, his face blank again before he relented, sliding to the side with the slightest of bows, "Yes, my apologies," he said to her, smiling with his hand set over his heart, "have a good night, Ms. Hargrave."

Startled by his actions, Mazarine stood still, giving him one last, suspicious look before darting off her class books clutched tight to her chest.


	6. Chapter 5

I'm sorry for not updating for a couple days, but here's two chapters to make up for it. Situation here's not too wonderful, but it could be worse. While in the middle of writing this chapter, my dad managed to lose my dog in a big park on a river and so, I spent two hours climbing through the woods screaming my head of as I tried to find her. Luckily someone did find her and she was microchipped so we were able to get her back home safe and sound, but I'll tell you I'm tired, sore, and really mad at my dad. Anyway, hope you enjoy! I promise, there's some big stuff on its way!

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As fall began to creep by, the trees that dotted Hogwarts turned from peaceful greens to the bright and burning colors of fire. The temperature, though still heavy with the weight of rain, was steadily dropping. More than a month of classes had passed and it was well into October, with Halloween quickly approaching. The Great Hall was as busy and bustling as usual with all the colors of fall on its tables and walls. Pumpkins, not yet carved, lined the tables and there were centerpieces made of well-arranged leaves and red berries. In corners and hanging from the gargoyle lamps, spider webs hung from the wall, strung by enchanted spiders and occasionally one would see the image of a bat fly through the rainy sky displayed above their heads.

Dressed in their dark green practice robes and fresh leather padding, the Slytherin Quidditch team made their way to the pitch. It was late in the afternoon, after all the classes were through but before dinner, and rain poured down on the group, soaking them all. Mazarine led the team, her hair pulled up into a tight bun at the back of her head, with Keaton directly behind her. As the team approached the fields, another group came walking out from between the stands, dressed in rustic red and gold tones and all just as wet.

On both sides, players straightened themselves, held their specially made brooms higher, and lifted their noses. None of them, however, said a word until a tall, thin, black haired, young man at the back of the Gryffindor group grabbed Mazarine's wrist, pulling her to the side. Her team continued onto the field, ignoring the transaction as the boy spoke, "Mazarine, could we talk?"

Before she could answer, the youngest member of the Slytherin team and the last in line butt in, shoving his way between them. His messy brown hair was slicked down to his skull from the rain and the cold breeze paled his tan and freckled face as he frowned up at the tall boy, "No you can't, Gryffindor," he said, a smug sneer appearing on his face.

The older boy blinked in surprise, stepping back from him and releasing the Slytherin captain's wrist, "I-" he started to protest, only to be cut off again.

Mazarine reached down to grab the back of the brown haired boy's padding, forcefully lifting and shoving him away from them, "You may be a part of this team," she said, scowling at him, bent slightly so their faces were close, "you may be a part of this house," she continued, pressing her finger to his chest as he stared wide eyed at her, "but you will not make decisions for me, do you understand, Half-blood?" She spat the name at him and tilted her head, raising a brow while she waited for his answer.

The young Slytherin seemed flabbergasted at his captain's treatment of him and he stumbled over his words, putting his hands up between them, palms up. "Y-yes," he stuttered, his brown eyes locked on hers as he began to back away.

With a sigh, the dark haired Gryffindor put his hand on Mazarine's shoulder, pulling her up away from the young chaser, "I'm sorry," he said, giving the boy an apologetic smile, "I shouldn't have grabbed her like that, you probably wouldn't have stepped up if I hadn't, and then you wouldn't have gotten yelled at." Beside him, Mazarine crossed her arms over her chest and turned away, rolling her eyes and the boy kept shifting his attention between the two dark haired people before him. "I'm Mazarine's brother, Declan," the Gryffindor said, offering his hand to the boy, "and you are?"

Cautiously, the slytherin boy grasped his hand and gave it one hasty shake before pulling his away, "Richard, Richard Brown," the boy answered, eyeing Declan.

"I'm sorry," Declan said again, looking over at his younger sister, "That Mazarine said what she did. I think she's in foul mood. Anyway, go catch up to the rest of your team, we'll be done in a few."

As the two boys finished speaking, Mazarine looked over her shoulder to see Keaton waiting by the edge of the field while the others spoke and played about. "Take care of things, Keaton, this should be quick," she said, throwing her brother a glance—which he merely answered with a smile.

Keaton nodded and waved Richard over, shouting to the team as he turned away from the siblings, "Three laps, running, then five flying, let's go!"

Walking away from the pitch, Mazarine asked her brother, "What do you need, Declan?"

He smiled, walking leisurely beside her, "To know what's going on in the Slytherin house. You look horrible, Vaughnn looks sicker than normal, and I swear Cowal's been going out of his way to argue with me." In his right hand, he held his broom, a hand carved model, built specifically for a seeker. Mazarine's, also carried in her right, was carved from the same wood, but unlike his straight, sleek design, it had a tip that turned down and multiple patches of notched wood to provide her a better grip.

She pulled it up and onto her shoulder, running her fingers over the dark, stained wood, "Just, keep your head down Declan. With my sixteenth birthday on its way and Vaughnn just now in school, Mother and Uncle are watching us more intensely than normal. Cowal seems like he's determined to attract attention, I can't figure out why, but he is, so don't aggravate him."

Declan sighed, stopping to turn and look at the pitch, "I will try not to, but you know how we are."

Mazarine followed him, looking out at her team as they flew around the pitch, with Keaton in the lead and Clive at the tail. She huffed, resting her broom behind her neck, "I do. You're basically a blood traitor and he can't stand your guts. You're lucky I can—and that I don't rat your behavior out to Uncle. You'd never hear the end of it." When he began to protest, she turned just enough to whack him in the back of the head with the end of her broom, continuing, "So long as you don't go about marrying some Halfblood or Mudblood, you know I won't say a word." Declan smiled at her, rubbing the back of his head and she cut in once more, saying, "But if you marry a muggle—even think about it—I'll have your head myself. My brother will not be such a disgrace."

With that, she left him, heading back down to the pitch. Sighing and looking after her, he said, half to himself, "Yes Ma'am."

"I heard that!" She yelled over her shoulder, throwing him a dirty look, "Get out of here, I won't have a Gryffindor watching my practices!"


	7. Chapter 6

The Halloween feast had always created its fair mix of intermingling between the houses—each house preferring one other, but not counting out the others completely. It was not uncommon to see groups of Hufflepuffs following about one or two Gryffindors, nor pairs of Ravenclaws discussing things with a Slytherin here and there. The more eccentric and social eagles laughing along with a somewhat reserved badger or more academic lion. Though Hufflepuffs were often too afraid of them, a Slytherin student would not attack one if not provoked, so even between those two houses there were small groups of friends.

However, rarely did one see a Gryffindor and Slytherin being friendly. While the Hargrave family had always been an exception to that rule, they often kept their public interactions brief and businesslike, and rarely if ever did they choose to eat together. However, it seemed that this year was different. The youngest child, fresh to the school had made the request of his siblings and two of them had agreed and so they sat, at the end of the Gryffindor table with a third, unrelated snake following them about.

"How are classes going, Vaughnn?" Declan asked his younger brother, biting into a chunk of roast, "I haven't got to ask yet—haven't really got to see you."

Vaughnn shrugged, his head lowered as he tried to ignore the curious eyes and ears trained to their conversation. "Good," he ventured, "I suppose. I'm doing the best in care of magical creatures—I'm good with them. History is simple, and potions is pleasant. Professor Slughorn says I have promise."

Blythe, seated next to Mazarine and across from Declan laughed and elbowed her friend. "Even your little brother is better at potions than you are, Maz, and he's a _first year_."

"A first year, exactly," Mazarine answered, frowning, "that's when potions _is_ easy."

Declan joined Blythe as she laughed, grinning across the table at his sister's best friend, "I thought it always was, what about you Blythe?" The olive skinned fifth year nodded, smiling back at him, looking more than just a bit love sick. He smirked a bit and chuckled, turning his blue eyes back onto his sister, "And isn't potions supposed to be Slytherin's strong suit anyway?"

When even Vaughnn began to chuckle, Mazarine turned her eyes upwards and breathed deeply, pursing her lips as she tried to ignore them. But this only made the three laugh harder and their laughter brought the attention of those sitting around them. As more people began to look at her quickly reddening face, Mazarine dropped her head, bracing her open hand against her temple to hide her face. "Hush, _hush,"_ she insisted, waving her hand at them, saying, "Quiet down, would you?" She groaned as Declan raised an eyebrow at her, a triumphant little grin growing on his face, "I know, I'm not good at the damned class, but please, do you have to make it an issue _here_?" She gestured down the length of the table, glaring at her older sibling.

Chuckling, Declan conceded, waving his open palmed hands about in front of him, "Alright, we won't talk about potions then." Giving his sister a playful smile, and her friend a knowing wink, he turned back to his younger brother to question him about his classes. At the look he and Blythe shared, Mazarine rolled her eyes and dropped her chin into her hand, pushing the food still left on her plate about with her fork. Blythe had practically grown up with Hargrave family, being an only child, and so, Mazarine was well aware of the growing crush her friend had for her older brother, much to her dismay. It was not only her relation to Declan that bothered her, it was his behavior. He was notoriously accepting of wizards of mixed blood, and Blythe coming from a small pureblood family was not deeply entrenched in pureblood thought, was easily swayed by his smile and kind words.

After a few minutes of barely picking at her food as she listened to Vaughnn tell Declan things she already knew. Mazarine grew annoyed. And when, while shoving King's cake into his mouth, Declan came across the ring that was hidden inside by almost choking on it, she pushed away from the table with a muttered, "I'll be back."

For all of her years at Hogwarts, having just Blythe as a close friend was good enough. Blythe was always _hers,_ unlike Keaton, who had his own group of friends in the Seventh year class. She could count on Blythe if she was bored or needed someone to talk to. They would get into trouble together and try their best to avoid the punishment that they knew would undoubtedly follow, knowing that if they were caught, they could at least serve detention together. Being one in a family of six children, Mazarine had had to share everything all of the time as she grew up, and for once she had dared to think she had something that was hers and now, Declan was taking that away from her it was grating on her nerves.

From across the Great Hall, Tom Riddle watched Mazarine storm away from her siblings, her pale knuckles whiter than ever as she clenched her hands into fists at her sides. The trio she left behind barely seemed to notice her departure and when she acknowledged that, she scowled and threw her arm to the side before making her way out of the Great Hall.

"Watching Mazarine again, 'eh Tom?" Abraxas asked, his eyebrows raised and a smug grin curving his thin lips. As usual, his blond hair was just barely held back over his shoulders by a tie at its ends and he wore his tie loose around his neck.

Pulling his eyes away from where the dark haired girl had disappeared, he met Abraxas stare while Orion spoke. "She's been off," he said, looking after her, "even at the game she wasn't right. Used the beaters more that she's ever done before—she was running Abbot and I ragged—not that it wasn't fun to knock a couple Hufflepuffs out of the sky." He turned his gaze to Tom, looking momentarily at Abraxas when he broke Tom's stare, "I suppose you know why?"

"If he doesn't," chimed Walburga, her attention on the light food she was slowly removing from her plate, "I have an idea." All three of the boys turned their attention to her, though, as usual it seemed as if Tom was merely humoring her when she spoke. "Sharing a dorm with she and Gallopin, I hear a lot more than you boys might expect. She doesn't tell her friend everything though. It has something to do with her family—with her mother and uncle in particular and her sixteenth birthday. I expect something that has to do with the trace, since neither of her brothers have been married off and I can't come up with anything else horribly special considering a sixteen year old."

While Walburga had been speaking, Tom's attention had strayed toward the doors of the hall and then to Mazarine's little group. The Hargrave family was proving interesting, but, he decided, watching Declan begin to laugh again, he would wait for one of them to come to him.


	8. Chapter 7

I'm really not all that happy with this chapter, and I've rewritten it a couple of times, but it's necessary, so I'll just let you guys have it instead of making you wait more. I promise the next couple will make up for it!

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The first Slytherin quidditch game, against Hufflepuff, had been painful to watch for anyone flying the yellow and black. While the Badgers had powerful beaters, their keeper and chasers had nothing on the Slytherin team and by the time the snitch was caught they had only managed a measly score of twenty points. The second game, played against the Ravenclaw team, was not only longer, but far more entertaining—even before it had begun. No one could say that Mazarine Hargrave didn't love a good show or know how to put one on.

When the Slytherin team took the field, they came in v-formation, shooting straight down the pitch at high speed. All of the fliers, except the Beaters who held their bats, carried their wands, riding one handed and as they banked to the left to circle the field, the threw their wands forward, casting a spell. Above them, the image of a giant snake struck out, fangs bared, glittering in brilliant shades of green. The crowds erupted into frightened screams and at least three students had fainted in the stands from fear. The snake, slithering its way through the air slowly disappeared as the team made their way back to their side of the field.

Stunned into silence, the game's announcer finally seemed to find his voice as the Slytherin players slid comfortably into their positions, only to be drowned out by the wild roaring of the audience as they found theirs.

When the game was over, only the losing team left unsatisfied. The scores had stayed close to tied through the entire game and only once the snitch had been caught had a definite winner been decided. Not wanting to lose the game before it had started, the Ravenclaw team managed to score the first thirty points. But soon, the Slytherin team had not only tied up, but had continued to surpass them by twenty points of their own. None of those points however, were easily won. Multiple fouls were called on both teams as chasers jostled and rammed each other in mid-air as they fought for the quaffle.

For those who came to see exceptional flying, they'd had their fill. Mazarine may have never shown bright in class, but she was brilliant on the field. She'd planned maneuver after maneuver that her team, after rigorous practice were able to put to use. And when one of their formations was broken, they simply reformed another.

Those who loved daring acts and foolish actions found no shortage here. The maneuvers that Slytherin employed were not basic or boring, they did not follow the book, and certainly didn't seem even slightly safe. Orion and timid Clive Abbott were a force to reckon with as beaters, whose aim again and again proved true. The Slytherin chasers seemed fearless as they scored goals while dangling from their brooms or standing on them as they rode.

And those few students who watched games, secretly hoping to see the drama that followed an in game injury did not leave empty handed long before the snitch had been released,t the Ravenclaw beaters managed to hit a bludger true. Flying in the lead of a hawkshed formation, passing the quaffle back and forth between she and her fellow chasers, Mazarine did not see it coming. It came in from their right and with a frightening crack, struck her shoulder and then the side of her head. The force of the blow knocked her from her broom and the Quaffle from her hands.

All five remaining chasers dove for it as Orion dove for her. Just as he caught Mazarine's unconscious body, snagging her by the waist of her cloaks, Richard Brown snatched the quaffle and blasted off to score his team their eightieth point, and the final goal before the snitch was released onto the field.

Two hours after the game, Keaton Mavies was helping Mazarine onto one of the thick, leather couches in the Slytherin common room. "Are you sure you don't want to go to your bed?" he asked, slipping his arm out from behind her back as he set her down. Keaton had always been rather fussy, having a sister that was more than 7 years his junior, and his protectiveness often extended to those he befriended. The madam of the hospital wing had released Mazarine with strict instructions to avoid too much movement, lest she be sick from her remaining concussion, and he'd be damned if he didn't make sure she listened.

Pressing the bag of ice she'd been left with to her temple, Mazarine rolled her eyes, "Yes, Keaton, I'm sure." Carefully, she adjusted into the plush cushions, careful not to jostle her sore shoulder. "I'm only bruised now, no more cracked shoulder or bloody face, and I'm conscious, so I think I'm doing pretty well." After Orion had caught her, Mazarine was rushed from the pitch, unconscious and bleeding from a bad split that ran from the top of her ear almost to the center of her forehead. Her team however, continued to play, and thanks to Keaton's speed and a pair of significantly angrier beaters, won the game after catching the snitch. The hospital wing had ended up with five quidditch players that afternoon—the Ravenclaw seeker and keeper, one of their chasers, and Orion himself, who upon catching Mazarine had sprained his wrist.

Shaking his head, Keaton sat himself just past Mazarine's outstretched legs. "Everyone loved our entrance you know," he said, changing the subject, "Will you tell me where exactly you got the idea for that now?"

"The 1940 world cup," Mazarine answered, smiling as she thought back, "My entire family went to France to see it. The Nordic team did a show like that with huge snowflakes, it was beautiful. I always wanted to do something like it, and being captain gave me just the opportunity."

From behind them, a light, playful voice called Keaton's name and he turned to look over the back of the couch as Mazarine leaned further onto the arm to do the same. Tansy Thorton, Slytherin's keeper, was headed toward them, her blond hair still in the tangled mess of a ponytail the game had made. "I know you're taking care of Mazarine and all," she said, walking over to lean on the couch back, "but there's dinner going on in the Great Hall and the team's waiting."

Before answering, Keaton looked to Mazarine and she waved him off, "I'm fine," she said, "I don't think I could eat right now if I wanted to." With a bit of a pout, the red haired boy left the couch and headed for the door, with Tansy ushering him along. Over her shoulder, Tansy shot Mazarine a wink, which she answered with a mouthed, "Thank you."

Once the pair disappeared through the door, Mazarine dropped her ice bag onto the table and stretched out further, fully intending to fall asleep near the warmth of the common room fire.


	9. Chapter 8

Sorry it's been a couple since the last update. I'm back in the dorm and had some stuff to take care of. Hopefully the next chapter will be out before my first day of classes so you don't have an agonizing wait, but I can't guarantee anything. Shortest chapter I've posted up to this point, but I felt this was a good place to break it up. I think you'll forgive me once I get the next chapter up though.

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It wasn't long after she'd dozed off that Mazarine was stirred awake by the sound of heavy footfalls passing near the couch. Whoever it was, she thought as she rubbed at her face, must be awfully upset to be stomping so loudly. When her vision finally cleared, she could see the back of a bulkier, black haired Slytherin headed for the door. "Orion?"

Startled, the beater turned, his posture tense. Upon seeing Mazarine, he calmed slightly and hummed in response, raising a brow in question.

Mazarine set the melted bag of ice on side table as she sat up, rubbing gently at her shoulder. "Thanks for today, at the game," she said, grinning at him, "I would have been a lot worse off if you wouldn't have caught me." Orion nodded and mumbled something in response which was lost as Mazarine continued, "Are you going to dinner to eat with the team? I don't know how long I was asleep, but it didn't feel too long, so I'd say they're all probably still there."

At that, Orion looked somewhat frustrated and it took him a minute to respond, "No, I'm not," he answered, shaking his head, "Not all that hungry."

Accepting his answer, Mazarine asked again, "So headed out to study or something?"

"Yes," he said, nodding, "To study." He took a quick glance at the door and shifted on his feet, as if eager to leave.

Well aware that Orion wasn't really one for words, Mazarine waved him off, "Go ahead, Orion. Good luck on whatever you're studying" she said with a smile, "I don't have it in me to study so you're guaranteed to do better than I would."

The boy nodded and moved for the door, but just before he closed it, Orion poked his head back in, "Mazarine," he said, grabbing the chaser's attention again, "Hope your shoulder heals up soon. You're a good captain."

Surprised by the compliment, Mazarine stared at him for a minute before her face broke into a wide smile. "Thank you, Orion," she said as he pulled the door closed behind him.

Once the heavy stone door had been shut, Mazarine was left staring blankly at the patterns carved into. Orion was off. Mazarine couldn't place a reason, but he was definitely not acting himself. He was not a fidgety man and he wasn't someone you had to probe for information. The Orion she knew would have made the conversation short and quick, she wouldn't have even had a chance to ask where he was going.

She didn't want to comment on it, but he seemed almost as if he was afraid of something. The longer she sat there, staring after him the more she wanted to know what that something was.

And she had never been good at denying herself something she wanted.

Ignoring the orders she'd be given by the madam, Mazarine shoved herself off of the couch and headed off the door after Orion. She had to hurry, else he disappear into the labyrinth of corridors that made up their school. Running up the long corridor that led one to and from the Slytherin commons, Mazarine pulled out her wand and cast a disillusionment spell, for the most part properly disappearing from sight.

As she came up from the dungeons, she was greeted with the main hall, where stairs and halls branched off in every imaginable direction. Not in one of them, however did she see Orion. Moving further into the hall, she glanced about, determined to find him. The beater, for as slow as he could be on a broom, had disappeared awfully fast and if it had not been for his gait, he would have disappeared for good. When Mazarine came to a halt, aggravated and disappointed, she began to hear footfalls. They were faint but they were enough to get her moving.

Pulling off her own shoes, Mazarine darted up the nearest stairwell, heading for the source of the noise. She gained ground quickly enough and soon, she could see Orion a flight above her. Wary of being caught, she slowed, keeping that flight between them. The higher they climbed, the more nervous Orion seemed to get. The hand he ran up the rail gripped increasingly tighter and his pace varied, sometimes picking up as if in a rush, others stopping almost completely.

When Orion reached the seventh floor, Mazarine lost sight of him, and as she hurried up the flight that separated them, she found him headed down that hall. Still holding her shoes in one hand and her wand in the other, Mazarine crept after him.

After a couple of turns, Orion came to a stop halfway down one stretch of hall. Mazarine watched as he began to pace, his eyes closed and after three turns, he stopped and turned to the wall. Before her eyes, a door began to appear from the cut stone wall. It was wood, thick and stained, braced by dark metal, with two heavy rings for handles. Once the wall had given way to the door, Orion pulled one side open and stepped inside. Mazarine rushed for the door as he began to pull it shut and just as her hand hit it, the wood began be swallowed back up by stone, disappearing even as she pulled at it.

Realizing her attempts were failing horribly, Mazarine chose to tuck herself into a corner diagonal from where the door had been and wait. Orion and whoever else was there would have to come out eventually.


End file.
